


But It's Tradition

by kim47



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft attends the Royal Wedding, John watches it, Sherlock attempts to distract him and an enjoyable time is had by all (except possibly Lestrade.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	But It's Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for this one. I was watching the wedding yesterday, despite how much I'd assured myself I didn't give a toss (but her dress was so pretty!) and was itching to write this. Egged on by a few of the lovely ladies on Tumblr, I indulged. So this is for Rosalia, Jess and Jamie. Thanks in particular to Rosalia who gave me the idea for a large part of this. I deeply apologise for any and all inaccuracies, the dijointedness, and the general unbetadness of this so if anything is glaringly wrong, give me a shout out.

John sighed.

"Sherlock, will you _stop_ wriggling."

Sherlock completely ignored him and continued to twist and contort on the sofa, finally ending up with his head in John's lap and his legs hanging over the end.

"I don't know why you're making me watch this," he complained.

"I'm not. _I'm_ trying to watch it. At no point did I insist that you join me."

Sherlock mumbled something that John didn't quite catch, so he ignored it and turned up the volume. He watched with interest as the various dignitaries arrived at Westminster Abbey, snorted at some of the truly ridiculous outfits and smiled at the sight of a familiar figure in the background.

"I can't believe Mycroft is there," he said, poking Sherlock on the shoulder.

 

"Please," Sherlock replied scornfully, "Mycroft _lives_ for occasions like this." He scowled at the television.

 

"You know, I've never seen him without his umbrella," John mused. 

 

This got a slight smile out of Sherlock.

  


"He does look rather good in a morning suit, though," John added.

 

"Hey!"

 

John grinned at Sherlock's indignation.

 

"I'm sure you'd look just as good," he told him, brushing his fingers along Sherlock's hairline.

 

"I would look _better_ ," Sherlock sniffed. "It makes him look fat."

 

John laughed and returned his attention to the television they'd moved over to the table just for the occasion. There was calm, blissful silence for a minute, before:

 

"God, the hats! Why do they insist on wearing such utterly ridiculous thing?"

 

"Sherlock, will you be quiet!" He paused, taking in Princess Beatrice's head gear. "Okay, so some of them are really bad."

"God, it looks as though she's had some sort of wildlife attached to her head."

John giggled and leaned down to press a kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

"You know," he said, "you're actually enjoying this, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I am not, the entire - "

"Maybe not _this,_ " John gestured at the television, "but you get to insult people as much as you want to, without me ticking out off about it."

"But you _are_ ticking me off."

"Yeah, but only because you're being annoying and talking over everything. Not because of the actual insults."

Sherlock pondered this.

"So," he said slowly, "if I restrain my insults to the less interesting parts of the proceedings, you won't mind?"

"More or less," John said. 

"Hmm," was the reply, followed by silence. After a moment, Sherlock picked up his phone and began to text.

Wondering how long the quiet would hold, John looked back as the television. More guests were arriving and the commentary team were speculating endlessly on what exactly the dress would look like. 

 

Sherlock's phone was buzzed. He smirk as he read the reply before firing off a response. 

 

"Who on earth are you texting?" John finally asked, his curiousity getting the better of his desire for silence.

  


"Mycroft."

 

"Can't you leave the poor man alone for once?"

 

Sherlock looked up at John with an expression that clearly said "What do _you_ think?"

 

John's phone beeped.

 

  
**John, if you could see your way to removing Sherlock's phone from his possession, I would be extremely grateful.**   


  
**Mycroft Holmes**   


  
**  
**   


Sherlock, clearly guessing what the text said, leapt up and sat on the arm of the far end of the sofa.

 

"I'm not giving you my phone," he informed John. "Mycroft will just have to manage."

 

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and sent a reply.

 

  
**Might be better to just turn your phone off? He's not looking likely to give it up.**   


  
**  
**   


  
**I am required to keep my phone on at all times.  
Mycroft Holmes**   


  
**  
**   


Not wanting to think about what kind of emergency could possibly pull Mycroft out of this particular engagement, John sighed in mock resignation and slouched against the sofa cushions, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. The moment he saw Sherlock relax fractionally and give his phone his full attention, he dove across the sofa and tackled him to the floor, making sure to roll them properly so Sherlock's head wouldn't slam into the ground. A moment later he was sitting across a very surprised looking Sherlock's hips and snatching Sherlock's phone out of his hand. 

 

Sherlock blinked.

 

"I'll hold on to this for you," John said cheerfully. "You wouldn't want to miss anything because you were too busy texting."

 

Sherlock's face underwent a strange spasm, as though a smile and a frown were battling for supremacy across it. Eventually, the smile won out, and Sherlock grinned at him.

 

"You know, I can think of a few more interesting things we can do," he said, wiggling his hips suggestively under John.

 

John braced his hands on either side of Sherlock's shoulders and leaned down, until his lips were millimetres from Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on him, and his hands came up to rest lightly at John's waist He was breathing a little faster than normal.

 

"Nice try."

 

John jumped up, smirking, and seated himself on the sofa once more. He heard Sherlock's huff of annoyance as he stood up and sat down as far away from John as he could. John suspected their agreement regarding his insults was now off.

 

By this time, the two princes had arrived and were making their way inside the Abbey. Sherlock made a small noise, and John turned to look at him; Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the screen, but his eyes were narrowed in a look of fierce concentration. It was a terrifying look, and John wasn't sure he wanted to know what was going through Sherlock's head.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock uncurled himself from his little ball of displeasure at the other end of the couch and flopped against John, resting his head on John's shoulder and draping his legs across John's lap.

 

Highly suspicious of this behaviour, but enjoying it nonetheless, John said nothing and filed it away to be examined later.

 

They watched in companionable silence as the Queen arrived (Sherlock only making one cutting comment on the subject of the colour of her dress and a brief insult to the entire concept of the monarchy) and the speculation reached fever pitch. John received one more text, which simply read _Thank you_ , and he grinned and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist.

 

 

Finally, the cameras caught a glimpse of the bride getting into the car and the commentators gushed and raved as the car slowly made its way from the Goring to Westminster Abbey. When she finally stepped out onto the plush red carpeting, John thought she looked beautiful. He knew next to nothing about dresses, however, and only said:

 

"She looks lovely."

 

Sherlock snorted, but said nothing, which John took as terse approbation; if he'd found anything to insult, Sherlock would not have hesitated to say so. 

 

The rest of the ceremony passed in relative peace. They had fun watching out for Mycroft and John refused to admit, in the face of Sherlock's mocking, that he'd gotten a bit emotional as the vows were exchanged.  Once the couple had sat down and the hymns and prayers had begun, Sherlock became restless, squirming in his seat and fiddling with a loose thread on John's shirt. John took pity on him.

 

"Look, if I give you your phone back, will you promise not to text Mycroft?"

 

"Yes," Sherlock replied immediately, lifting his head to look at John with an expression of wide-eyed innocence. John knew far better than to believe that look, but handed Sherlock his phone anyway. Sherlock's fingers were immediately flying.

  


"Texting Lestrade, I assume?"  
 

Sherlock grunted.

 

"There's no way he'll have anything for you today, you know," John said.

 

"Worth a try," Sherlock said, dropping his phone into his lap as he finished. He watched the screen for a moment.  
 

"The entire thing is ridiculous, you know," he announced suddenly, and John rolled his eyes.

 

"The entire what?'

 

Sherlock waved his hand at the television.

 

"The wedding, the pomp, the monarchy, all of it. Thousands of people turning up hoping to catch a glimpse of two people they don't know, whose only claim to fame is happening to be born into the right family, exchange meaningless vows."

 

"Not everyone's like you, Sherlock," John said, mentally adding a 'thank goodness.' He loved Sherlock, he really did, but one of him was certainly enough. "A lot of people still believe in the monarchy, believe that it's an important part of our history and culture and should be preserved."

 

Sherlock snorted.

 

"It's sentimentality of the worst kind. Ask most of these people on another day what they think of the monarchy and they wouldn't be able to form a complete thought on the matter."

 

John mostly agreed with what Sherlock was saying, but it was much more fun to rile him up, so he shrugged. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously.

 

"You're a monarchist, aren't you, John? "

 

John made a vague, non-committal noise.

 

"You are! I should have known, Queen and country and all that, but really, John, I thought you had more sense," Sherlock sounded personally wounded, and John couldn't help but laugh.

  


"I'm not really, you daft bastard. I just think..."

 

"Yes?"

 

"Well," said John slowly. "Things like this. People like them. People like feeling part of something that's bigger than just them, y'know? And this is something that does that. And for once, there's a big news story, and it's not death or famine or natural disasters. I like that."

  


Sherlock merely said "Hmm,"  and returned his head to John's shoulder. A moment later, he said:

 

"It's a shocking waste of tax-payer money though," and John had to smile.

  


 

The ceremony was just drawing to a close when Sherlock's phone buzzed. Sherlock snatched it up eagerly.

 

"Finally!"

 

"What does it say?" John asked, trying to force Sherlock's hands to an angle that would allow him to read the text.

 

" 'Piss off, Sherlock, I'm having a hell of a day and I don't have time to deal with you right now'," Sherlock read. "Oh. Disappointing."

 

He started to reply, but John grabbed at his wrist.

 

"Sherlock, give the poor man a break. The entire city is one big party today, he must be horrifically busy."

 

To his surprise, Sherlock dropped his phone obediently and curled back up around him.

 

The newlyweds were making their way up the aisle, out the doors and into the awaiting carriage. Sherlock said nothing until they had driven past the throngs of people lining the route, cheering madly, and up past the gates of Buckingham Palace. 

 

"Would you like some tea?" he asked suddenly, springing off the sofa.

 

John stared. Sherlock offering to make tea was virtually unprecedented.

 

"All right, what do you want?" he demanded.

 

Sherlock looked at him blankly. 

 

"Want?" he asked. "Nothing in particular. A good murder would be lovely, but you'd probably go to prison and I'm rather fond of you, you know."

 

Sherlock strode into the kitchen and John could hear him banging around with the kettle and spilling the milk. Five minutes later he was presented with a cup of tea, a biscuit and a pleased looking Sherlock.

 

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip. It was perfect. He was still suspicious.

 

"Is it over yet?" Sherlock asked, flopping down next to him.

 

"Nearly. Just waiting for them to appear on the balcony."

 

"What for?"

 

"What - ? Sherlock, do you really not know how this goes?"  
 

"Of course not," Sherlock scoffed. "Do you really think that's the sort of information I would retain?"

 

John didn't.

 

"They all come out onto the balcony, and Will and Kate wave to the crowd and kiss and then go back inside and everyone goes home. Or to a street party. Most likely a street party."

 

"And you want to watch this?"

 

"Yes!"

 

Sherlock eyed him curiously.

 

"What on earth for? The wedding I could understand, even if I didn't agree, but this is just silly. Needless posturing."

 

John could think of a few things to say on the subject of Sherlock and needless posturing, but instead he simply said:

 

"Look, it's just part of the whole thing, okay? Part of the tradition. And I want to see it."

 

Sherlock moved closer, pressing against John's side and turning into his body.

 

"Wouldn't you rather be kissing me?"

 

It was a terrible line, truly awful, and John was certainly going to mock Sherlock for it, but not right now because Sherlock's lips were very close and presenting a rather pleasing alternative for what he could be doing with his mouth.

 

John kissed him slowly, just a gentle movement of lips on lips, and Sherlock sighed contentedly. After a few moments, he clearly decided that the angle wasn't to his liking and moved as if to swing his leg over and straddle John's lap. 

 

"Oi, tea!" John exclaimed, pushing him away with a laugh. Sherlock frowned at the offending cup, and plucked it out of John's hand and placed it on the table. 

 

"I wanted to finish that," John protested.

 

"I'll make you another one later," Sherlock said, and this time he did climb into John's lap, pushing him back into the sofa cushions and kissing him hard. John thought about insisting, but dismissed it when Sherlock licked his lips and slide his tongue into John's mouth, making John's eyes close involuntarily and his grip around Sherlock's waist tighten. The kiss quickly turned deep and intimate, and John was just wondering if he could be bothered to move them upstairs or if he should just fuck Sherlock right here on the sofa, when Sherlock pulled away slightly.

 

"John," he said, and his voice was slightly hoarse and his lips were red and shiny and John couldn't stop staring at them. God, they'd been together for nearly four months and John _still_  felt like a teenager sometimes, horny as hell and desperate for Sherlock.

 

"I was wondering," Sherlock said, starting to kiss his way along John's jaw, "if you would do something for me?"

 

"Hmm, yes, what - " Realisation washed over him and he poked Sherlock in the rib, pleased when the man jumped and leaned back. "This is what it was all about, isn't it? The being quiet and giving up your phone and making tea."   
 

"Of course not, John," Sherlock scoffed. He moved forward again, reattaching his lips to John's jawbone.

 

"I don't believe you in the slightest, but go on," John said, shivering as Sherlock nosed at the hair behind his ear and nipped at his earlobe. 

 

"I had rather hoped," Sherlock slid his hand down John's chest and cupped his groin, making John gasp, "that you would be willing to wear something for me." 

 

John pushed Sherlock's shoulders back and looked him in the eye.

 

"Like what?" he asked warily. He could think of half a dozen ways this could end, and he wasn't sure he liked any of them.

 

"Nothing like that," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. He toyed with one of the button's of John's shirt, opening and closing it aimlessly. 

 

"Well?" John asked when it became clear that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything further.

 

"Your dress uniform, John," said Sherlock. "I'd rather like to see you in your dress uniform."

 

There was a brief pause before John laughed with relief.

 

"Is that all?"

  


He heaved Sherlock off him, pausing briefly to kiss him, and stood up. Sherlock was watching him in surprise.

 

"I didn't think you'd be so agreeable," he admitted. "I thought you'd think it was, oh, disrespectful, or something like that."

 

John only shrugged. It hadn't even occurred to him. He liked the idea that Sherlock wanted this part of him too, wanted to see him in a different way to any he had before.  
 

"I'll be back in a few minutes," was all he said.

 

In his room (and he hadn't slept here for _weeks,_ he realised, glancing at the perfectly made, slightly dusty bed) he carefully dug out his old uniform. Christ, it had been a while since he'd looked at this and it  _did_  feel a little strange to be putting it on again. He completed the task as quickly as he could: white, double-cuffed shirt, soft, dark trousers, red braces, waistcoat and jacket. He slung the bowtie around his neck; he couldn't be arsed to tie it, it always took him ages, and he likewise left the cuff links in their box.  He contemplated his boots for a moment, decided he'd look idiotic in his green striped socks only, and pulled the boots on. 

 

As he went back downstairs, he suddenly felt a bit silly. It was ridiculous to be in his full dress uniform in the middle of the day in his own flat, simply for the amusement of his flatmate-cum-boyfriend. But it also wasn't the _most_ ridiculous thing he'd done with or because of Sherlock, so he shrugged the feeling off and went back into the living room.

 

Sherlock was texting again, but he looked up as soon as John walked in and stood in front of him. John could feel his gaze as it raked over him, taking in every detail, and he felt horribly uncomfortable. It was the look Sherlock usually directed at suspects and dead bodies, and John had not yet had the misfortune to fall into either category.

 

Then he noticed how dark Sherlock's eyes had gone and how flushed his cheeks were, and the feelings of discomfort were replaced with feelings of a very different nature. 

 

Sherlock got up slowly and stepped towards him. He ran his hands reverently over John's red lapels and brushed his fingers along the gold buttons of his waistcoat. His eyes flicked to John's shoulder. He smiled.

 

"Captain Watson, I believe?" he said, his voice low and rich. John's stomach fluttered and his heart rate picked up. He'd been standing stock still, back straight, but now he reached out and placed his arms around Sherlock's waist, leaning in to kiss his neck. Sherlock shivered, then pushed John back

  


John crossed his arms and frowned. Sherlock only laughed and said:

 

"All in good time, John. I want to look at you for a bit."

 

It was terribly hard to be offended when Sherlock was looking at him like that, like he had a hundred filthy fantasies running through his mind and was trying to decide which one he wanted to try first. 

 

A solid minute passed. John was just starting to feel uncomfortable again when Sherlock swooped in and kissed him, hot and eager, his hands sliding under John's jacket. Taken by surprise, John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock merely slipped his tongue in and went to town. For long moments, it was all lips and tongues and teeth and _god,_ John had never been kissed so thoroughly in his entire life. When Sherlock finally released him, he staggered a little, and reached for Sherlock's shoulders to keep himself upright. His head was spinning, possibly from the oxygen deprivation but more likely, he thought, from how unbelievably turned on he was.

 

"John, unless you say something to stop me, I'm going to rip that uniform right off you in a moment."

 

John tried not to whimper.

 

"Well," he said, "I'd prefer it if no actual ripping occurred. Only, this uniform's quite expensive to replace, and - "  
 

Sherlock cut him off with a brief, soft kiss.

 

"Oh, don't worry, I'll do it slowly and carefully," he said, grinning rakishly at John. It was a smile John hadn't seen before, and he found it was having a rather profound effect on both his knees and his cock.

 

John glanced longingly at the television, where the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were about to greet their adoring public. He looked back at Sherlock, who breathing heavily, his face flushed. 

 

That was all it took for Sherlock to kiss him again and fall back onto the couch, pulling John on top of him. John spared the television one last, slightly regretful look before turning his full attention to the gorgeous and eager man beneath him. Some things were more important than tradition.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still reading this, congratulations and as a bonus, here is a picture of the jacket John was wearing. If you click [this](http://www.messkitonline.co.uk/acatalog/Royal_Army_Medical_Corps._Officer_Mess_Jacket.html) link it'll take you to the website and you can look at all the other bits of the uniform. Sorry there's no actual smut, Jess. And sorry there's not more Lestrade, Jamie. Thanks to [](http://randomly-rusted.livejournal.com/profile)[ **randomly_rusted**](http://randomly-rusted.livejournal.com/)   over at [](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[ **sherlockbbc_fic**](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/)  who answered my question about John's uniform and rank.
> 
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